War/Peace. Matthew Vandenberg

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      1 Let Me Entertain You – Robbie Williams

      JACKSON CURTIS - 10:03am - December 10 - 2011

      ‘There’s a point when it hits you: the intensity of the situation,’ I say, stepping onto a commuter at Gosford station. ‘You think about your future, your past, and your present all at once, your attention all the while held by her legs as she strolls by, the careful, hypnotic movement of these two beautiful arms, whispers of gold, streamers of pale gold skin, framed by shiny denim shorts. You think about the day you accepted your job, your role in society, one pleasant evening. And you’re looking at her, staring into her naked, blue eyes, at the biscuit she is holding loosely between her teeth, and envisioning walking up to her and asking a single question that is on your lips: one quick, incisive whip made from a perfect length of words that begs an answer, that begs the respondent to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets to a man she has never met.

      ‘There she is, walking towards me, wearing one pale pink lily pad on her chest, a tuft of hair on one crystal eye, and one very mischievous smile.’ I’m sitting at the butt end of a carriage on a typical suburban train. Noise pollution – like smoke from a cigarette – fills the air. As I stare at her ankles, feet, thighs, I can hear only a roar, the sound of speed, the heavy, fast, beat that runs through the streamlined carriage and the long train rips the air outside.

      ‘And so I’m thinkin’: should I pop the question? What will she say? What will she think? I’m nervous, like a sober guy who has just walked into an exclusive nightclub. Not because I’m thinking of picking this girl up but, rather, because I’m thinking of making this girl an offer to work in the most dangerous area of the state, to work on the naked strip of Cross in the heart of Sydney, on these bright blue veins or arteries which stretch like streets: bare, back alleyways of Sydney’s cold, dark underworld. Yeah. This ain’t no question you ask everyday is it? Not for the ordinary guy anyway.’

      I press the volume key on my phone. Rihanna’s What’s My Name? rings in my ears. One shy glance picks up on the girl’s curiosity, mixed with intrigue and a tiny bit of suspense. The day’s as young as her and I have no plans, so I resolve to pop the question: not right now but soon.

      ******

      References

      1 The Logical Song – Supertramp

      2 Love Story – Taylor Swift

      3 Heaven Is A Place On Earth – Belinda Carlisle

      4 Sexy Bitch – Akon and David Guetta

      5 What’s My Name? – Rihanna and Drake

      6 Ramp! The Logical Song - Scooter

      JACKSON CURTIS - 7:07am - December 17 - 2011

      ‘Chloe.’ – Chloe extends a hand. – ‘Friends with Shaun, right?’

      ‘Last I checked,’ I reply.

      ‘Yeah. I’m gonna need you to sign something. It’s the standard relationship contract. Read the fine print if you like, but it basically states that during our time in this beach house . . .’

      ‘You’ve got a contract for relationships?’ Kurt asks. ‘Who does that?’

      ‘I do. I’m unique. You gonna sign it too, yeah?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘You will,’ Chloe says, shrugging. ‘There’s a clause that says I’ll fuck you.’

      ‘Whoa!’ I say. ‘Does that mean we gotta fuck if I sign this?’

      ‘Don’t act like you don’t want to fuck me.’

      I shrug: ‘I need a stack of these contracts for when I travel to Sydney. I could hand them out to random people and see how many I get back. Sounds swell.’

      ‘You know something fun to do on the train?’ Chloe says. ‘I love acting, and showing off. So know what I do? Me and a friend, we pretend to be strangers to one another, pretend we don’t know each other. I’ll take a seat next to him in a crowded commuter – say Central to Hornsby peak time – and after about 20, 30 minutes of silence I’ll suddenly say: “Look, this is a real strange question but I’m just wondering what’s on your mind right now? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I just ask random people this question and sometimes I get some real bizarre responses.” And the guy will say: “You really wanna know what’s on my mind? Really?” “Yeah,” I’ll press. “I’m thinking of fuckin’ you, right here on the train, in front of everyone, my arse pressed against the thick glass, your lips glued to mine.” And the looks we get! It’s hilarious. Like a stunt they’d do in Jackass. It’s fuckin’ awesome. You gotta try it!’

      ‘Well?’ Kurt presses, leaning forward.

      ‘What?’ Chloe asks.

      ‘Well, do you fuck . . . on the train?’

      ‘You’re a tool, you know that?’ – Chloe stands up and walks to the other end of the room.

      ‘I’m gonna love it here,’ I say.

      ‘Hey: she never gave me a contract to sign,’ Kurt whines.

      ‘You’re a tool Kurt,’ I say with a smirk. ‘A complete fuckin’ tool.’ How many people do you think are watching us right now?’

      Kurt shrugs.

      ‘I’d say a cute thousand plus at least. That’s only coz the word ain’t spread yet though. In a few days we’ll have a good dose of viewers, no doubt.’

      ‘Ha! So it’s like: water-fall, you come crashing down / Water-fall, your cum crashing down / Cascades that form a glaze as the gaze from your eyes puts me in a daze . . .’

      ‘Shut up Shaun!’ I yell. ‘No one wants to hear your rap.’

      ‘'Cept my mum,’ Shaun retorts. ‘Know what: by the time I’ve left this joint they’ll be listening to me.’

      ‘Who do you mean by “they”?’ I press.

      Shaun takes a seat next to Chloe: ‘So Chloe: ever been in a Big Brother house before?’

      ‘What sort of a question is that?’ Chloe remarks. ‘Of course not. Have you?’

      ‘Can’t say I have.’

      ’37,’ I say.

      ‘You’ve been in 37?!’ Shaun asks.

      ‘No. That’s how many people – all of whom have never before ventured into a BB house – will be living here soon.’

      ‘What! How do you know?’

      ‘You guys have the earphones, right?’ I ask. ‘Put ‘em in. It’s the only contact we got with the outside world. If the guy who just spoke to me is even outside.’

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